It had been a long time, but he was here. No one really knows where he came from, but it’s not like anyone can ask.
No one tends to go near him, well, not willingly. People are too scared to go near him. He’s harmful. Borderline dangerous. Anyone who goes near him or his estate, never get to tell the tale. They get too traumatized. Some even die.
People say he’s an escapee from a mental hospital, others claim he’s a scarred war veteran, and others theorize that he’s just a man who tragically lost his family to an unknown arson’s kindling of his house. Sadly, no one knows. No one can ever know, but me.
Why me? Because I’m him. I’m that man. Everyone thinks that I’m an old man who lives on a cliché hill in a cliché scary house. But. I’m not an old man, and I don’t live in a stupid horror movie trope. I just look and act weird, so people made up lies about me!
The lies went so far and evolved so much that people just think that I’m a murderous rich dude who apparently went to war, escaped a mental institution, and had a family that burned to death???? The only part they got right is that I kill people! Yeah. I said it. I’m just a young, poor dude who lives in a damn terrible apartment and kills people! That’s literally it!
Ugh. It’s so damn annoying! UGH. I hate being portrayed as some ugly old dude!